Dan Snaith’s music is a healing balm. He makes tender, fuzzy-warm jams that are like superglue for piecing yourself back together after a break-up. I am hoping this quality extends to, say, ice-skating, which is what we are doing on this, the coldest of afternoons, in east London. About a gazillion tiny children appear to have bunked off school and are threatening to hurtle into us. Our frozen appendages might end up getting sliced off at any minute. Luckily, even in this scenario, Snaith has the goods. Not to worry, he says, I can wear his mittens.
It’s an unlikely location for an interview, but then the last time we met, to talk about his 2014 album, Our Love, it was in a cemetery.